


playing for keeps

by 1001cranes



Series: Second String 'Verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ground rules. Show tunes equal blue balls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	playing for keeps

So it’s been, like, a week, and Kurt still hasn’t gotten up the guts to text Puck – long enough that Puck almost considers making a move, even though he generally considers that a no-no. Of course, considering Santana’s dumped him and it’s way too cold to be cleaning pools, he’s kind of in an off-season right now.

The thing is, Kurt’s nervous around him. Not so that anyone would notice, but Puck does. For being so high maintenance Kurt’s a fairly unflappable kind of guy, so when he looks away or backs off a step, Puck notices. Kurt doesn’t back down, even if it means getting tossed in a dumpster. But now he’s scurrying in and out of football practice like his ass was on fire, and at Glee he stays about as far away from Puck as anything but choreography allows.

Then Finn falls asleep in practice.

Puck should say Finn falls asleep _again_. He’s been dozing off in football practice, in Glee club, in most of his classes if Puck isn’t there to punch him in the spine every few minutes. The things a guy will do for his friend.

“He’s drooling,” Kurt notes, fascinated in a strangely detached way, like watching Finn drool is kind of like watching the Discovery Channel, when they have one of those specials on the sex habits of aardvarks, or whatever. He’s standing only about a foot away from Puck now, though, so that’s progress.

Puck punches Finn in the shoulder. He stopped being able to shake him awake a week ago. “Dude, wake up.”

Finn’s eyelids barely flutter. “Sure, yeah, that sounds good.”

Puck rolls his eyes and punches Finn in the arm again. He can admit that they’re never going to win this mash-up thing without Finn bringing his A-game. “I _said_ , we can’t let those girls beat us.”

This time Finn manages to keep his eyes open for five seconds in a row. Sort of. “Sorry,” he slurs, drool still on his chin, and Kurt still looks both fascinated and repulsed. Man, is Puck used to _that_ look. “Sometimes when I’m thinking real hard it helps to just close my eyes.”

Uh huh.

Artie wheels himself over. “We’re doing a mash-up of _It’s My Life_ and Usher’s _Confessions_ ,” he explains. Translation: you’re singing lead, try and stay awake.

“We should get some trashcan lids,” Puck declares. “And stomp the yard up in this piece.” Good luck with Finn sleeping through that.

“Puck, with respect, you’re more helpful when you don’t contribute.”

Fucking Artie. Just because he can’t use his legs. Puck resists the urge to pull his e-brake and turns back to Finn, who – big surprise – is falling asleep.

“Go see the nurse,” he says, Christ on a fucking crutch. “Every day I say I have a headache, I sleep for three hours. I haven’t attended a math class in two years.”

Finn toddles out of the room with a barely murmured thanks, and Puck hopes to God that’s the end of that.

It’s not, of course, because, as previously discussed, Puck’s life never works out just the way it should. It’s going well, too – Puck drags his chair next to Kurt’s, and he gets them arguing about songs; Puck leaning towards anything rock, Kurt going showtuney. Puck’s pretty sure Kurt’s doing it just to annoy him, so he’s been kicking the back of Kurt’s chair, just off the beat of whatever Mike is blaring from his iPod. Whenever Kurt gives him one of his sideways glares – which are, notably, no less lethal than a straight-on glare – Puck smirks and Kurt suddenly finds his nails fascinating. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. Or gays in a closet. With less actual shooting in the second metaphor.

And that’s when Finn comes tripping back in – like, tripping in _every_ sense of the word, even though he says its just the vitamins the nurse gave him. And he brought some back for everyone, rah!

Puck catches the box. Snags Kurt’s eye and shrugs. They’re from the nurse, right?

| |

After practice – which goes _slammingly_ , thank you very much, who knew Mike could move like that? – Puck can’t keep his hands off Kurt. Or, well, he tries, but Kurt pretty much can’t stop dancing.

“These are my confessions,” he sings, half under his breath, and keeps switching from hip wiggling to stomping completely at random.

“Hummel. Hummel, Hummel, Hummel,” Puck repeats, until Kurt looks up from buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, and he yanks on Kurt’s waist hard enough that Kurt half-falls, half-sits on top of the desk in front of Puck’s chair.

Kurt gives him the hairy eyeball, then looks around the empty classroom. “Where’d everybody go?”

“Finn was still talking about Habitat for Humanity,” Puck says. “Also, Invisible Children, finding a cure for cancer, and the Anti-Taxidermy League.”

“Taxidermy,” Kurt repeats, and shudders. “Creepy.”

“Super creepy,” Puck agrees, and moves his hand farther up on Kurt’s thigh. “Also, Matt said something about nachos, and Artie’s been racing Mike up and down the hall for like fifteen minutes.”

“Oh my god!” Kurt says brightly. “Hey, do you think Mike would show me how to do that thing? That thing he did? Where he fell, but then he didn’t?” Kurt’s voice grows exponentially higher with each question, and Puck’s face hurts he’s grinning so hard. “What? _What_?”

What the fuck, pretty soon it’s going to break the sound barrier, or only dogs will be able to hear it, or whatever.

“I feel dizzy,” Kurt continues, like Puck isn’t laughing so hard his gut hurts. “Do you feel dizzy? Vitamins shouldn’t make you dizzy, they’re supposed to brighten your complexion. Skin care is a constant battle, Puckermann, not all of us have a natural glow,” and he looks so earnest Puck has to immediately stand up and kiss him, tug Kurt’s bottom lip between his teeth until Kurt makes this needy sort of noise and presses his entire body into Puck’s.

Puck spends about ten seconds thinking about continuing this here, finding out what noise Kurt makes when Puck has Kurt’s cock in his mouth, but A - Artie and Mike in the hall, and B -- he really doesn’t need a guaranteed hard-on every time he’s at Glee practice. There are so many ways that could get unspeakably awkward it clears Puck’s head for a minute, and he gets An Idea. Capital Letters, Idea.

“Hummel,” he says, and steps away so fast Kurt slides across the desk. “Dude, I’ve got a plan. I am the man with a plan, seriously.” Puck picks Kurt’s man purse off the floor and shoves it in his general direction. “Follow me.”

Kurt slings his murse over his shoulder and gamely follows Puck out of the practice room, still singing.

| |

Back in his sophomore year, Puck slept with this girl who substitute taught a few of the art classes, and she let him in on a little secret. There’s a little door in the back stairwell, near the art rooms, which is locked but not really -- you jiggle the handle a little and it opens, revealing a really dark, tiny staircase which Puck practically has to drag Kurt up -- Kurt, who is somehow _still_ talking, only now about how Puck’s not taking him someplace remote to kill him, right, right, he’s way too pretty to die, he’s too young, his talent is just blossoming, he never got to meet Adam Lambert. Puck momentarily considers killing him just to _shut him up_ , but really, he’s got a better plan.

When they get to the roof Puck turns around and makes an expansive “who’s the man?” gesture. Because, yes, he is indeed the man.

Kurt wrinkles his nose. “The roof? Why are we here? Puck, why are we on the roof?”

Puck gives up. “It’s like you’ve never seen any teenage movies, ever.”

“I prefer musicals,” Kurt says haughtily.

“Again, color me surprised.” Puck takes off his jacket and spreads it over the concrete, because he can just _tell_ how this is going to go with Kurt. “I’ll give you a hint,” he says, and slides one hand over the back of Kurt’s neck.

“Oh,” Kurt says. “ _Oh_ ,” his mouth a perfectly rounded O, like an angel choirboy, and _jesusfuckingchrist_ , Puck thinks he might have actually said that out loud.

“Did I just say that out loud?” he asks, just to make perfectly sure.

“You did,” Kurt moans, the horror on his face mirroring Puck’s. “You did, oh god, oh my _god_ , we’re stoned, we’re totally stoned. Those were not vitamins.”

Puck’s grip on the back of Kurt’s neck tightens. “No, no,” he says seriously. This is… this is very serious. He’s got visions of every after school special ever running through his head – just say no, users are losers. Not to mention that steroids shrink your junk. “It’s Vitamin D, it’s fine, vitamins are fine.”

Kurt draws himself upright and plants his hands on his hips. Like a more fashionable, less French Napolean. “Vitamin D,” he enunciates, “my _ass_ ,” and Puck starts laughing so hard he has to hold onto Kurt just to stay upright. If his hands maybe slide down to actually grab Kurt’s ass, well, its not like anyone’s ever gonna be able to prove it.

“Okay,” Puck says, when they’ve finally stopped laughing and his hands are _still_ on Kurt’s ass. “Okay, no, it’s official, we’re high as kites.”

“I always liked kites,” Kurt says dreamily, and then the fuckhead actually starts singing _Let’s Go Fly A Kite_. Puck hasn’t heard that since he was, like, four, and he doesn’t need visions of Julie Andrews or Dick Van Dyke dancing around his head, thank you very much.

He puts one hand over Kurt’s mouth to shut him up, but Kurt just licks it. Then calls it gross.

“You’re the biggest girl I’ve ever slept with,” Puck declares.

Kurt sniffs. “I choose to take that as a compliment,” he says.

Puck laughs and sticks his tongue in Kurt’s ear, just for good measure. “Just... shut up, Hummel,” he says, and manages to push Kurt down onto his varsity jacket.

“Oh,” Kurt says, “ _thoughtful_ ,” like the concept just occurred to him. “And I want one of these! When do I get mine? I get one, right, even though I’m just the kicker? They’re a little kitschy, but I can work it, and red is totally my color.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Puck says, because honestly? He’s not too focused on what Kurt’s wearing so much as what he imagines is under it. He has this awesome flash of letting Kurt wear his varsity jacket -- like, with nothing else underneath. It’s a good picture. He’d do it, too, but its actually way too cold up here to take anything off -- Ohio in October is already rapidly moving towards snow weather -- much less walk around mostly naked.

Kurt’s started squirming next to him, bored, and when his eyes drop noticeably to Puck’s mouth -- right, this was the original plan, hello -- Puck shifts so he’s lying on top of Kurt, one hand on his hip and the other on the side of his face. He presses his mouth to Kurt’s, soft and short, then harder. Then he does it again. And again. And again, slipping his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, running his fingers over Kurt’s jaw, until Kurt’s shuddering beneath him, and the back of Puck’s arms feel cold from being out in the open air so long.

Belatedly, Puck realizes Kurt’s started to hum _Let’s Go Fly A Kite_ again, and he wants to laugh so badly he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek, hard.

“Hold still, you little freak,” he says. “Jesus. Ground rules. Show tunes equal blue balls.”

“That seems acceptable,” Kurt pants. “Okay. Okay, stopping, I promise.”

“Good,” Puck murmurs, and shimmies down until he can undo Kurt’s belt and yank down his pants, fitting Kurt’s hips perfectly in the palms of his hands. They’re delicate and sort of freakishly sharp. Puck runs his thumbs over the skin just above them, and Kurt hums much more tunelessly. “ _Very_ good,” he says, and runs his tongue over the underside of Kurt’s dick.

“Oh,” Kurt gasps. “I didn’t --”

Puck likes giving blowjobs, okay? He likes doing them his way. He likes the control. Holding Kurt’s hips onto the concrete, setting the pace and listening to Kurt beg and babble. He likes pulling back to rub the head of Kurt’s dick just over his lips, so when Kurt jerks his hips forward his cock slides over Puck’s cheek, catching a little on the stubble there. Puck grins, and he jacks Kurt hard, rubbing his thumb just under the head of Kurt’s cock, then into the slit.

“Puck,” Kurt says, “Puck, _Puck_ ,” urgently, his hands scrabbling over Puck’s scalp like he’s looking for something to hold on to, and the scrape of his nails has Puck moaning around him, no skill at all, and when Kurt comes Puck chokes a little, trying to swallow.

Puck’s so hard right now, fuck, his dick is chafing in his jeans. “Shit,” he hisses, “Shit, I need --” And he’s unzipping his pants while Kurt slides his hand inside and this is what Puck likes about Kurt, he is _with the program_. And Puck’s, like, a mess -- he’s got spit on his chin, his cheek’s wet from where Kurt’s dick slipped out of his mouth, and Kurt is _licking_ Puck’s face clean while he jerks him off, which so both totally hot and completely mind-blowing that Kurt is even doing it, Puck comes so hard he actually greys out for a second.

He slurs “Jesus Christ” into Kurt’s neck when he collapses on top of him, and Kurt’s hands move from Puck’s dick to press at the small of his back. Puck concentrates on grazing his teeth over Kurt’s collarbones and then biting, sucking perfectly round hickeys onto Kurt’s neck, while the sensation of Kurt running his fingernails over the back of Puck’s neck drives Puck to fucking distraction. But Puck’s dick rubbing against the inside of Kurt’s thigh is just a little too much, not to mention it’s a little too fucking _cold_ out, and when Puck and Kurt stand a few minutes later to go back inside -- Kurt’s clothes and hair in disarray, his neck marked all to hell, Puck’s mouth bruised and wet and obvious - Puck just hopes to hell that Kurt isn’t embarrassed about this later, because he sure as shit isn’t going to be.

| |

They kill the performance on Tuesday. _Totally_ kill it, the girls are so going down. It’s almost sad, they way they have no chance. Almost. Sort of almost. Puck likes to win.

He also gets this... this kind of, he doesn’t know, twinge, from watching Kurt during their number. He’s got this black scarf on, which is pretty par for the course Kurt-style-wise, but Puck’s the only one who knows why he’s wearing it -- that he _has_ to wear it, to cover up all the bite marks. Puck texts him – _nce movs 2day_ – just so he can watch Kurt’s face turn pink from across the room and have to duck Mercedes’ questioning look.

He catches Kurt in the hall after practice. Literally catches him, just grabs him by his ridiculous sweater and hauls him off to the nearest janitor’s closet. Kurt’s looking up at him with big anime eyes, and he’s blushing.

“Like the scarf,” Puck purrs, grabbing for each end. It’s made of something soft, of course. Almost silky. “Nice,” he says, and runs his fingers just under the material, over Kurt’s Adam’s apple and the little hollow under it. Then gives each end of the scarf a playful tug.

At first, Puck thinks maybe he scared Kurt. Which, okay, _fair_. It wasn’t that long ago his daily activities included dumping Kurt into the school dumpster, so grabbing said guy, dragging him into a deserted closet, and then half-mockingly strangling him might raise some alarms. The wide eyes, the small twitch, the aborted gasp -- that could be fear. The way Kurt’s dick tries to jump out of his pants? Not so much.

Puck doesn’t really think of himself as a kinky guy. Handjobs, blowjobs, fucking, its all good, and he’ll go along with just about anything people bring up -- moms who want to fuck in their kids’ rooms? Surprisingly common -- so maybe he’s just _easy_ , generally speaking, but there’s something about Kurt that just makes him want to push. That makes him want everything.

“Kurt,” he whispers -- because hell, if you’re going to choke a guy a little, at least call him by his first name, right? “Say no.”

Kurt doesn’t.

So he pulls a little. Just a bit. Just enough to make Kurt _want_ to take a breath, like that first moment you duck your head underwater, complete with brief knee-jerk moment of panic. Pressed this close, Puck can feel how hard Kurt is. How every time Kurt tries to inhale he stutters over each breath instead.

“Good?” he asks, and pulls the scarf a little tighter, this time. Still more than enough air to say stop if Kurt wanted. Just enough pressure to be a promise of more.

Kurt nods a little, and Puck pulls the scarf gradually tighter, so gradually. He starts to wrap the ends of the scarf around his fist. Once. Then one and a half times. Until each time Kurt inhales it sounds sharper and sharper. He’s getting air but not _enough_ , like when you’re running, like you’ve gotta just push through it. Kurt makes this little noise in his chest, like -- like getting punched in the stomach, maybe, or holding back a sob, and for a second Puck thinks about pulling tighter, or ditching the scarf altogether, putting his hands right around Kurt’s neck. They never -- when the team was throwing him into dumpsters, or whatever, they never touched him really, besides an arm or a leg. Puck’s never touched him there. Puck’s never touched him a lot of places.

And Kurt’s been rubbing up against him the whole time, these short hitching movements, like he doesn’t want to move but he can’t help himself. And Puck’s not -- he’s just holding onto Kurt, pressing him into the wall. Not moving, even though he suddenly realizes just how hard he is. Finally, it’s - that sound Kurt makes is too much, is just _too_ , and Puck loosens his fists, lets the scarf go lax and ignores the way Kurt’s hands are shaking on Puck’s chest, clenching and unclenching the fabric of his t-shirt. Puck reaches for Kurt’s neck and unwraps the scarf the way he used to take bows off presents at Christmas, trying to make them last longer. He lets the scarf fall to the floor and runs his fingers over the bites that are almost welts on Kurt’s neck.

“They hurt?” he asks, and Kurt drops his head to rest on Puck’s chest.

“Not exactly,” Kurt says after a minute. Raspy. Still a little breathless. “It’s just, I know they’re -- ” but whatever he’s going to say next comes out strangled, when Puck grazes his teeth just over the darkest spot.

“You’re so...” Puck says, and he can think of a million ways to finish that sentence, and he can’t think of anything at all. “You’re...” He puts one hand on Kurt’s throat, instead. Wraps his fingers around as far as they’ll go and pushes Kurt back against the wall so he can kiss him.

He goes for Kurt’s fly and Kurt goes for his, and it’s a tangle of belts and hands and he steps on Kurt’s toe and his zipper gets stuck so badly he pretty much rips his pants apart to get them down over his thighs. But the first touch of Kurt’s dick against his makes him groan, and when he licks his hand and wraps his fingers around the both of them it doesn’t take more than a few strokes for them to come over Puck’s hand, his t-shirt. Kurt thrashes like a wild thing, and then sags against Puck, just-- just _boneless_ , and Puck holds him up against the wall for God knows how long, breathing against his neck. Until detention lets out, he guesses, and the kids making their way down the hall startle them out of it.

“Um,” Kurt says, and Puck can feel the heat rising off Kurt’s face. He takes a step back, and watches Kurt wipe himself off as best he can, zip up and fix his hair.

Puck picks the scarf up from the floor and wraps it around Kurt’s neck. Gentle, and careful, making sure all the bite marks are covered up. And there’s this weird... tension, almost. Like Puck didn’t just have Kurt’s dick in his hand, for fuck’s sake.

“See you later,” he says finally, and if his hand lingers on Kurt’s throat for a minute, there’s really no one there to see.

| |

That night Puck crashes so hard he sleeps through both of his alarms the next morning, and he goes into school feeling like death.

He was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, but he’s with Kurt on this one – Vitamin D, his _ass_.

 _| |_

So, the girls kill it too. It’s not what he’s expecting – Rachel’s a choreographing machine, sure, and Mercedes has a set of pipes Puck could barely believe the first time he heard, but half of them are cheerleaders and half are geeks, entirely too many of them are crushing on Finn, and none of them play too nicely together – which means there’s really only one possible explanation.

Puck hijacks Kurt in between third and fourth period, and drags him to the janitor’s closet. “You ratted us out to the girls?”

Kurt sniffs and smoothes at the wrinkles in his shirt where Puck’s hands were. “My allegiance is to them, first.”

“Big surprise _there_ ,” Puck mutters. “But Finn and Rachel have had a Very Special Moment, and now they’re going to come clean to the principal.”

Kurt actually starts to look a little nervous. “But. I mean. Mr. Schuester’s wife gave them to us?”

Puck can actually _feel_ the intensity of his eyebrows drawing together. “We’re not going to get in trouble. Probably another lecture from Schue. And Rachel’s going to be insufferabler.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Shut up,” Puck says, but at this point he’s mostly saying it into Kurt’s neck. “Got a few minutes?”

“I’ve got… history?”

Sounds like a yes to Puck.

| |

Kurt ends up pretty much missing history.

“Tell them you were at the nurse,” Puck suggests. “You look a little dazed, anyway.” Not to mention they probably don’t have a nurse to check in with anymore, anyway. It’s win-win.

Kurt sniffs and tries to smooth out the wrinkles on the front of his shirt. “Please. Mr. Chatland’s practically senile anyway. I doubt he even noticed I was gone.”

Puck just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Hummel.” He storms out of the closet and shoves a kid standing in the hall into this locker, just because.

He’s midway through English, half-heartedly paying attention to the significance of the red cap in ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, when his cell buzzes in his pocket. He slides his phone under the edge of his desk and slides it open.

It’s from Kurt - _413 Brockport Ave._

Puck stares at the screen for a while before it dawns. Kurt’s address?

His phone buzzes again.

 _8PM?_

Puck snaps his phone shut and tries to stop grinning before someone notices. He’s got a reputation to protect, after all.


End file.
